The young elf checked himself hastily, his hands roaming the sides of his white ceremonial gown. It was the moment he had been waiting for since he was only but a mere child. Today was the day---the day that he would meet the king of elves, and the prophecy would be foretold.

A rush of trepidation had permeated throughout his body. 

His palm felt so sweaty and shaky, and his breath would hitch ever so slightly at of the thoughts of today. In all honestly, Faylin was not so sure if he was ready to take on such a large task, but, nevertheless, it did not matter if he was ready or not; it was his destiny, something that he was born to do--his pre-determined livelihood, and as much as he wanted to pause for a moment and wonder what lied in his future, he could not.

He combed his pallid blond hair back, neatly pushing the long strands behind his pointed ears. Faylin, then, turned around, his eyes landing on the black jewelry box sitting on top of his night stand. Gingerly, the young elf opened the intricate container, his eyes widening in awe at the silver diamond studs, embellished with droplets of gold. They were beautiful, too beautiful to be presented to him that he had almost felt unworthy of being bestowed such a gift.

The earrings were his last loving memory of his late mother before she perished. His mera, as he called her, was a very valuable healer in the kingdom, and had died tragically on one of her expeditions. Last as he recalled, she was headed to Ranal, a opulent city located far north, just by the border of the Nix mountain range. She was supposed to tend to a prominent old elf, named Kimera, who had a great political influence in all the elven kingdoms, but ended up reportedly falling to her death (as told by one of her handmaiden) while traveling through the meandering passages of the mountain side. 

They never found her corpse.

Through his glossy eyes, he clasped the fine jewlery in his hand as if pretending he was holding onto but his mother's limber fingers. Faylin Mera, I miss you, mera. I miss you, he chanted in this thoughts, wishing she could be here to see him off. It was difficult for him to stifle his tears as they steadily ran down his face, but  he had assured himself that his mother would not want him to cry.

Wiping away his tears, he carefully removed the earrings from their seals, placing them into each lobe of his ears. He smiled, admiring himself in the mirror. The earrings had somehow complemented his pale, impish face. He could not help think that the they must have carried some magical abilities that enhanced his beauty. Wearing them made him look a lot more pleasing, more regal as if he was now a part of something of a greater importance.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Faylin?" his father called out, "Are you ready?"

Faylin stared at the entrance, taking in a deep breath.

"Yes, abbas, I am ready," he replied, opening the door.

His father smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. "Oh, how much you look like your mera," he commented, his eyes swelling with joy. "You were meant for great things, my puer. I am sure of it and so was your mera. When you were born, we knew you were a rarity."

"Thank you, abbas." The boy was anxious, but the the older man reassured him by rubbing his child on the shoulder, leading him towards the king's court.

"Now, my puer, do not be nervous," he whispered as they walked towards the main entrance. His father had previously been a part of the High Elven Council, so far all his life, all he had ever known the royal palace. But regardless of this, he had never set foot anywhere near the main entrance. He had always made sure to be near, or in the garden with the other council children.

"We are here." The doors of the king's court were large, oak doors, decorated with years of history. The Battle of Sarkin, one of the most notorious wars of them all, was plastered in both doors in Zarkanian ink. It told the story of Sarkin's princess, Alayla, the first guardian. She used her powers to save humanity from the dark forces.

It was a great win for Sarkin, if told by any elf. But to Faylin, he was unconvinced. The story only seemed to be used to increase patriotism within the kingdom during times of division. For example, when Farenborne and Sarkin were at war over unclaimed territory, both kingdoms had reminded one another of the Battle of Sarkin, the battle that their people, the elves, had won together, despite their differences.

The elf did not have time to peruse the other legends as the wooden doors had opened, startling him.

"Enter," the guards commanded in unison, Faylin went to step in, but his father was held into place by one of the guards. "Not you, only him."

"My puer, this as far as I can go."

"But abbas–I cannot do this alone. You had promised me—"

"It is alright," his father reassured, "you can do this." And with that, the entrance's doors had closed. Fear had taken a hold of Faylin, so much so that he was eager to try anything to postpone his meeting with the king. He stayed in his spot, his eyes overwhelmed with luxuries of the room. Royal paintings were plastered on the ruby walls, jewels and other expensive antiquities decorating it.

"Why, my puer. Do not be scared." The elven king gave out a boisterous laugh, and his son, Prince Pharom, sat next to him, amused by the boy's meekness.

"I am not scared my lord, just merely revering your lovely room." Somehow, Faylin's comment only made the old man laugh harder, his ragged white beard swaying side to side.

"Come now," the old man spoke, gesturing for the boy to come closer. Faylin did as he was told, walking towards the king and the prince, he then promptly bowed in veneration, his knees on the floor, and his arms placed in front of him as he made eye contact with the royals.

"You are the guardian, little one?" The old elven leader asked, stroking his beard.

"Yes, Lord Alereez, it is I." The boy's blue cerulean eyes wanted nothing more than to look away, but he remained in his spot and smiled politely.

"Where is the mark?" the old leader questioned, and Faylin gulped. Quickly, he grabbed the rim of the white garment, exposing the the side of his hip. The mark was something that all gaurdians bared, and each one was unique to each elf. His happened to he in the shape of a Carateen Jasamine, a rare flower in Farenborne.

"I see." The King Alereez coughed, his face turning pink, while his son gave a wolfish grin. "You may let the garment down now."

"Yes, your highness."

Clapping his hands together, the king alerted the guards at the door. "It is time," he yelled, "let us bring out the Beast!"

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Glossary of terms:

mera–mother

abbas–father

puer–child